


Hidey-Hole

by AlmondRose



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, angst maybe???, some fluff i guess?????????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9692585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondRose/pseuds/AlmondRose
Summary: Damian's stomach aches.





	

Damian’s chest aches. 

 

Okay, well it’s not really his chest, more his stomach, right where he knows there’s a scar. His stomach aches and there’s a scar and it’s related, he knows. Phantom pains, he thinks, since it feels like he’s being stabbed, again. He curls up tighter in on himself, his knees drawn up to his chest protectively. His sweatshirt is too big, the hood coming up around his cheeks, and he breathes in the smell of his jeans. It smells like dust from the attic he’s hiding in, and honestly dust is better than whatever else he expected to smell, blood maybe. 

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of something besides his stomach, but it’s not really working. He pulls to mind his cat, dog, and cow, but he’s reminded of how Titus was  _ right there  _ when he came back, so he has to push the thought away. 

 

He used to be able to meditate, but not anymore, it seems, because his mind is not going empty and his head is not clearing, his heartbeat not stalling. He takes another shaky breath and hears the door open and floorboards creak. 

 

He’s in a little space he calls an attic, but it’s more like a closet, sort of, hidden in a stairwell on a lesser-used part of the manor. The space could fit Father, but not much else. 

 

Someone moves next to him, sitting in his space. They draw their legs up and close the door, breathing nearly silently. He lets himself fall into her side, feels her arm go around him. 

 

As far as he knows, only she knows about his little hiding spot, and he trusts the door to hide them from the rest of the world. 

 

For a long time she doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t either. 

 

“PTSD?” she asks finally, softly. Damian nods into her purple sweater. 

 

“My death,” he says, and she doesn’t really react except to bring a hand to his hair to pet it. Stephanie’s died too, and she gets episodes about it, as well.

 

(all of his family understands PTSD, but he only feels comfortable talking about his death with Stephanie and Todd.)

 

“Are  _ you  _ okay?” he asks, moving one hand to poke at her. 

 

“I think so,” she says. He nods, satisfied, and curls back up, his head against her sweater and his arms still holding his knees to his chest. She puts her feet up against the door, moves her hands to somewhere, and they breathe together, Damian’s scar still aching. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed and comments or kudos are always welcome! :)


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